Reflections
by deangirl1
Summary: A double tag to WIAWSNB. Dean had a lot to deal with when he crawled back over the rainbow. Blame Jensen's amazing perfomance for forcing me to write two tags to the episode...
1. Life in Black and White

Life in Black and White

**Disclaimer:** Don't own them. Get no money from them. Still Kripke's.

**A/N:** I wrote this and posted it elsewhere not long after WIAWSNB aired. It was originally a one shot, but this episode just wouldn't leave me alone. You can blame Jensen and his amazing performance. The second part isn't truly a continuation though it does somewhat reference this part. I was asked to post the second chapter here, so thought I might as well post this part too. I will post the second part on Sunday.

Here, then, is the first part/kick at the can…

* * *

Life in Black and White

Dean pushed himself off the dresser. He was just too tired talk about it anymore. Probably just the blood loss talking. He rubbed his chest to try to dissipate the sharp pain that didn't seem to want to go away. He knew from first hand experience that he wasn't having a heart attack. Well, he was sure enough although it was a little hard to separate the heart attack from the electrocution.

"Get your stuff together Sammy. I want to get out of here." Dean's voice was flat and quiet.

"Dean, why don't we stay for another night? You still look like shit. Hell, by all rights you should probably be in the hospital too."

Dean laughed without any humour leaching into it. "Not an option little bro, and you know it. Look, we were just waiting to make sure the girl was going to be ok, right? Now we know, let's just go. We already know the cops like this motel. We don't have to go far – just … out of here."

Sam noticed the urgency start to creep into Dean's voice. He'd never seen his brother look so sad. Not even after Dad died. Sam knew now why Dean hadn't been able to show how he felt after Dad died. He'd been too confused by the guilt and anger mixed in with the grief to deal with it then. Sam would have preferred that Dean rest, but he also understood his brother's need to deal with his emotions behind the wheel of his Impala.

"Ok. But just a couple of hours on the road Dean, and then we're stopping at the first place we find."

* * *

"Pull over Dean. I'm starving."

They'd been on the road for about an hour when a decent looking truck stop came into view. Dean reluctantly pulled the Impala over. He knew that food was the furthest thing from his mind, but Sammy had to eat. They strolled into the diner and chose a booth towards the back, by a side door, where they could still see the entrance from the highway. The exits were covered, but they weren't immediately visible sitting in their booth. It wasn't easy being fugitives, and Sam was slightly disturbed by how easily they were able to adapt their hunting training to this new and unwanted aspect of their lives. The usual pretty waitress strolled over to their table. Sam had noticed that regardless of how many waitresses a place had, they always seemed to get the prettiest one. And Dean always flirted with her.

"What can I get for you boys?" she had that winning waitress smile.

"Um, coffee and the menu. Dean?" No reaction from his brother who was looking out the window but seemed at least a million miles away.

"Dean!"

"What?" Dean's voice was quiet. Sam expected him to snap back at him and almost flinched at his mild reply.

"What do you want?"

"Coffee." He didn't look away from the window.

Dean knew that there'd be no living with Sam if he didn't eat, but he couldn't find any enthusiasm for it. His mother had made him his last sandwich, and he'd eaten his last cheeseburger with Carmen.

"Just order me some soup if she gets back before me," Dean said and wandered back towards the bathroom. Sam watched his brother walk away. Damn. As annoying as happyDean could be, Sam had just gotten used to really having his brother back. They'd had to endure life in Hollywood and prison, but Dean had been, well, _Dean_ again. Impervious. Focused. Buoyant. Flippant. Dangerous. All the things he could be that made him the best big brother. Ever.

Dean didn't have any pressing reason to visit the bathroom, he just needed a little space to catch his breath. He splashed water on his face and looked at his reflection. Sam was right. He _did_ look like shit. God. He couldn't even face having to decide what to eat. It was easier to take orders. He missed his Dad giving them. It was the one burden he didn't have growing up. Sure, he'd had to look out for Sam and his Dad too, but he hadn't had to make the big decisions. Maybe Sam was right. Being a soldier didn't prepare you for everything. Like dreams. He'd royally screwed that up. Too much free will involved in dreams.

All his dreams had lain in his past. A past he now knew was dead. Guess they were right – you really couldn't go home. How screwed up was he that even his dreams were flawed. It's not like the Djinn screwed it up. All it did was put him to sleep; his subconscious, or whatever, had done the rest. But his dreams were tainted by the way he'd been raised. You could take the hunter out of the hunt, but you couldn't take the hunt out of the hunter. All his life, it had been drilled into him. Others first, you last. And Dean believed it. Sam would be getting worried. Dean sighed and left the bathroom.

Their meal came in due time. The waitress placed Sam's dinner in front of him and a bowl of soup and BLT sandwich in front of Dean. Sam was completely unprepared for Dean's reaction.

"What the HELL is THIS! I said SOUP, Sam. How the hell hard is that!"

"Jesus, Dean. It came with a sandwich. I thought BLT was your favourite. If you're not that hungry, just don't eat it." Sam frowned – just a narrowing of his eyes as he considered his brother. He also nervously scanned the room. They really couldn't afford to make a scene.

"Hey!" Dean called the waitress back. She'd been trying to make a strategic retreat. "Hey! Take this away." Dean waved at the sandwich. The waitress quickly grabbed the offending plate, shooting an apologetic look at Sam.

"Sorry. It's not your fault," Sam attempted to make her feel better.

Dean ignored the waitress and played with his soup. Sam ate his chicken dinner and noticed Dean playing with his soup. And Sam knew then, if he hadn't before, how devastated Dean was. Dean didn't eat only when he was truly on a downward spiral. HappyDean ate. UnhappyDean didn't. They finished their meal in silence and got back on the road.

Sam was grateful that Dean had shared as much with him as he had about his dream world, but now, Sam knew that Dean needed time to deal with everything that had happened to him. That was why he hadn't said anything about Dean not eating. That was why he hadn't pressed for further details. He would wait and bide his time. When Dean was ready to talk, he would, and Sam would be there to listen. Sam knew that it wasn't that Dean didn't value his input. But Dean always needed time to assess the situation. If they were hunting something, Dean could make lightening speed decisions that always seemed to be right, but when he could, he really did like to have time to examine events from all sides.

So, they drove, and Dean thought. Not that he really wanted to think right now. He missed the bright colours. He missed the smells. He missed his mother's touch. Another stabbing pain pierced his heart. But it hadn't been the perfect vision of home. For starters, Dad was dead there too. Sure he'd died peacefully in his sleep, but dead was dead, and Dean hadn't got to have the complete family experience. Life in munchkinland or the Emerald City or wherever the hell he'd been, wasn't perfect. What would he have said to his Dad's face he wondered. Well, if he was honest with himself, he probably would have still been mad as hell at him. Talking to his tombstone was fitting. He'd gotten the usual Winchester stoic silence after all. Why were Sam and his mother forced to sacrifice their happiness for people they didn't even know? Dean hadn't considered his own sacrifices then, and even in reflection didn't acknowledge that maybe he was important too.

His mind wandered back to the warehouse. What if, in addition to Jess offering him release from the burden of protecting Sam, and Carmen offering him unconditional love and a family all his own, and Mom offering him a safe life with no pain, and Sam offering him permission to stay – his conscience always – what if, Dad had offered him something too. Dean was pretty sure, really, 90 pretty sure, that if his Dad had asked him to stay, he probably would have. But Dad wasn't there because Dad would never have belonged to a baseball team. Dad would never have let him be weak. Dad would have never let him put himself first. 'Cuz Dad hadn't allowed those things for himself.

So he'd dragged himself back over the rainbow and his first sensation was pain. And danger. And fear for Sam. But this was his Sam. The Sam that he had mostly raised. Who was his brother and his best friend and his whole world. Dean didn't know what the future held, and he didn't know how to dream anymore.

He'd followed the yellow brick road – God, how he hated that colour. There'd even been munchkins – well one anyway, with a red hat. But in the end, he'd come back for the same reason as Dorothy. And it was snoring gently in the bed beside him.

* * *

**A/N2:** On re-reading this I'm not sure how well it stands up. It was still an early attempt for me. Please leave a review?? runs and hides


	2. Who Do You See?

**Disclaimer:** Don't own 'em. Don't get any money from 'em. My thanks to Mr. Kripke for the loan.

**A/N:** WIAWSNB is one of those episodes in which Jensen amazed me. Every time I watch it, I see him do something new. The expression on his face when Sam rejects him was just so heartbreaking that I couldn't let it go. This was written some time after the first one shot I did for the episode. It addresses some different issues. It's not a perfect fit but does follow the first one shot after a fashion.

**Dedication:** This is dedicated to my mother in honour of the day.

* * *

Who Do You See When You Look in the Mirror?

Sam sighed and leaned back in his chair, watching his brother's fitful sleep. He dragged a hand across his face quietly acknowledging his own exhaustion. Really, he should turn in himself and try to get a few hours of sleep. Dean's fever had finally broken and was slowly falling back to normal. He was still sweating and wracked with occasional chills, but Sam was sure the worst was over. At least, the worst of the physical discomfort his brother had been suffering through. Sam sighed again. He wished, not for the first time, that he could do something to alleviate his brother's emotional pain.

After the Djinn's attack, Dean, in typical Dean fashion had insisted he was fine. Sam had been relieved when Dean had actually opened up and told him a bit about the fantasy that the Djinn had locked him in. Sam's concern had doubled, however, when Dean had opened up and admitted that he wasn't sure they weren't paying too high a price to help the innocents of the world. That maybe their family did deserve a little happiness too. That they had sacrificed too much; that maybe it wasn't worth it. The depth of Dean's devastation was almost too much for Sam to process.

Dean had just wanted to leave after learning that the girl they had saved was going to be alright, and Sam agreed, knowing that Dean needed the space and the road to deal with the events. They'd stopped for a quick bite to eat at a diner and found another shit-hole motel to crash in by late afternoon. Dean had insisted that he still wasn't hungry – he'd barely touched the soup he'd ordered at lunch. There was no way to know how much blood Dean had lost at the hands of the Djinn, but he was still too pale in Sam's estimation and that meant that Dean had to eat whether he wanted to or not.

"I'm just gonna run out and pick us up a light supper," Sam insisted as he deposited his duffle on the bed furthest from the door.

"Whatever, Sam. I told you, though, I'm not hungry. Just pick me up a coffee, ok?" Dean was looking through his duffle.

"I'm gonna take a shower while you're out." He was hoping the hot water would help to warm him up. Dean grabbed the change of clothes he had been looking for and slipped into the bathroom before Sam could say anything. Or so he hoped.

"Dean," Sam raised his voice to be heard through the bathroom door. "I'm bringing you back something to eat, man. You lost a lot of blood. Your body needs food to be able to recover."

Silence. Sam sighed. His brother was nothing if not stubborn. Well, that was a _Winchester _trait – Dean didn't have the market cornered there. He'd damn well eat even if Sam had to force feed him.

Forty-five minutes later and Sam was re-entering the motel laden down with supplies. He'd caved on getting Dean anything truly healthy to eat. He wanted his brother to eat after all, so he'd brought a cheeseburger and fries. Juicy and greasy as they came. He'd also brought Gatoraid to help replace Dean's electrolytes.

Dean was lying on the bed with one arm flung over his eyes when Sam came through the door. The television was on.

"Come on, Dude. Got your favourite." Sam set the food out on the table.

"Told ya. I'm not hungry."

"Dean. I will force this down your throat if I have to. Please. Dean. Just a bit? Humour me?"

Sam knew how to wheedle his brother into doing what he wanted. It was easier if he could get Dean to look at him so that he could turn on the puppy-power stare, but Sam had been using the same tone of voice with the "look" for so long that the tone of voice was almost as powerful on its own now. Dean rolled over as Sam's tactics had the desired effect.

What Sam wasn't prepared for was Dean's reaction to the food.

"You…you got… cheeseburgers?" Dean's voice died to a whisper. His face fell.

"It's your favourite. I even got extra onions." Sam frowned and tilted his head. Dean's eyes had a decidedly glazed look. He was clenching and unclenching his jaw. Dean cleared his throat and looked down. When he looked back up, he had his game face back on. He stood up and joined his brother at the table.

"Dig in," Sam indicated the food. "I got some Gatoraid, too. Don't make a face; you need it."

Dean wrinkled his nose in distaste. "I hate that shit, Dude. That's how you know it's good for you." Dean was determined to try to eat for Sammy's sake, but he had no real interest in the food in front of him. In fact, the very smell was turning his stomach. He grabbed some fries and took a tentative sip of the offending drink.

"Ugh. I hope there's a special place in Hell for whoever invented this shit. And I hope their special Hell is having to drink this crap 24/7."

Sam couldn't help but smile. Any amount of Dean snark was a step toward putting this last hunt behind them. Sam's attention focused on his own food. To be truthful, he was starving. Sam was so intent on his own meal that he didn't pay attention to the fact that Dean took only a few half-hearted bites of his cheeseburger and picked slowly at the fries.

Dean was rapidly beginning to feel worse. Eating had caused the dull pain in his stomach to intensify. The smell of the food was causing his nausea to increase as well. He felt hot and then cold. He'd been feeling disoriented and cut off from everything since Sam had found him and now that feeling was growing.

Dean stood up suddenly, knocking his chair over, and bolted for the bathroom. Skidding to a halt in front of the toilet, the little bit of food that Dean had managed that day made a reappearance in the toilet.

Sam was grateful that he'd pretty much been finished his meal anyway. He gave his brother a few minutes and when he heard the toilet flush went to the door of the bathroom. Dean had sunk onto the side of the tub. He was at least as white as the porcelain sink and tub. Probably whiter as the sink and tub had seen much better days – but then, so had Dean. Even from the door Sam could see the tremors that were wracking his sibling's body, try as he might to hide them.

"Damn, Dude. Do you think you're gonna make it?" Sam leaned against the door jam.

Dean looked up and tried to give his brother his trademark grin. It was a pale imitation in Sam's estimation.

"Just give me a minute. Guess that supernatural acid that fugly bastard gave me has some lasting side effects."

Sam just grunted in response. He'd already been worrying about whether Dean would have any lasting physical ill effects from his time with the Djinn. He moved into the bathroom and approached his brother slowly. He knew Dean hated to admit to any physical weakness. Sam reached out with his palm and laid his hand against his brother's cheek. Sam fully expected Dean to pull away from the gentle touch. But Dean didn't pull away. His eyes fluttered closed, and he leaned into the touch of Sam's hand. That and the heat radiating off of his brother had alarm bells going off in Sam's head.

"Damn it, Dean. Dude. You're burning up, here."

"Huh?" Dean pulled away from Sam, breaking the contact and snapping his eyes open. "I'm alright Sam."

"Dean." Sam sighed. Just once he wished his brother would admit that he wasn't _alright_. "You are quite likely dehydrated, you haven't eaten a decent meal in days, you just threw up, and now, you seem to have a fever."

"I'm sorry." It was barely audible, and it tore at Sam's heart.

"For what?" Sam's eyebrows quirked into a frown.

"Being a pain in the ass."

"Not your fault, Dude. At least not this time," Sam tried to lighten his brother's mood.

"C'mon, let's get you to bed." Sam grabbed his brother's arm gently to help him off the side of the tub.

It was then that he noticed the mark on Dean's throat where the Djinn had inserted the needle to siphon off Dean's blood. Sam had tried to get Dean to let him clean it up for him, but Dean had insisted on doing it himself, and had obviously not done a very good job because now it looked infected. That would go a long way to explaining the fever.

As Dean rose to his feet, he swayed and would have fallen if Sam hadn't had a firm grip on his arm. Dean's eyelids fluttered closed again, and Sam was worried he was going down when his legs started to buckle, but this was Dean, and he fought off his momentary weakness. He allowed Sam to help him back to his bed, though. Dean sat on the edge of the bed while Sam plumped the pillows up and then had Dean lean back into them.

Once Sam had Dean settled back in the bed, he gathered up their first aid kit and returned to Dean's side, bringing the Gatoraid as well. Shaking out a couple of ibuprofens from the first aid kit, Sam handed them to Dean along with the drink. Sam rummaged around in the kit until he found what he was looking for – antibiotics.

"Ha!" Sam said triumphantly. For once, luck was on their side. "I knew we still had a bottle of these kicking around. It's the extra bottle that Bobby gave us after Duluth." Sam handed one of the pills to Dean who choked it down with a swig of Gatoraid and the ibuprofen.

"I'm not gonna guarantee that you never see those particular pills again Sammy." Dean handed the Gatoraid back to his brother. Sam noticed that Dean's hand was shaking. In fact, Sam noticed that Dean was shaking all over.

Quickly grabbing the thermometer from the first aid kit, Sam went to insert it into Dean's ear. Except that Dean drew back and away from his brother.

"Dude. Personal space?"

"You have a fever."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious. That's why I took the pills, remember?"

"We need to see how high your fever is."

"Why?"

"So we'll know when you're getting better," Sam began to feel like he was talking to a five year old. One of the more annoying ones who just kept asking questions.

"Whatever," Dean gave in and allowed Sam to take his temperature. Sam was relieved that it was just 102. High, but not dangerously so, and as Dean had pointed out, the ibuprofen and antibiotics would already be working to bring it down.

Sam next removed the hydrogen peroxide, some gauze pads, and topical antibiotic cream from the first aid kit and set about cleaning and dressing the wound on Dean's neck. As Sam worked, Dean remained still and silent, allowing his eyes to slip closed. His breathing became slower and deeper, and by the time Sam was finished, Dean was almost asleep. Sam hated to wake him.

"Dean?" Sam said softly, laying his hand gently on his brother's shoulder.

"Hmmm?"

"Why don't you take your clothes off and just get into the bed, already?" Sam prompted.

"'K." Dean managed. Without really seeming to waken or stand up, Dean slipped out of his jeans and over shirt, leaving him to sleep in his t-shirt, boxers, and socks. With Sam's help, he slid under the covers and was almost instantly asleep.

Sam sighed. He'd taken care of the physical aspects of Dean's ordeal, but he knew that Dean needed help with the emotional wounds he'd suffered at the hands of the Djinn, and Sam didn't know how he was going to help his brother with those. In this instance, Sam was going to have an unexpected ally in Dean's fever.

Sam had been working on the laptop for a couple of hours and Dean had been sleeping relatively peacefully. Sam's attention was suddenly drawn to his brother when Dean started to become agitated. He was tossing on the bed and muttering. The sheets were tangled about Dean's body and there was a thin film of sweat coating his body. Sam knew that sweating was actually a good sign when dealing with a fever, but his brother's agitation was a different matter.

Sam moved to the bed, drawing a chair up to it, and laid a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder. Dean startled slightly and pulled away, muttering under his breath.

"It's ok, Dean. You're safe." Sam soothed.

"No. 'M sorry." Dean mumbled.

"What? Sorry for what Dean?" Sam prompted.

"'M a crappy brother." Dean couldn't have said anything that would have surprised or shocked Sam more. One thing they had both always agreed on was that Dean was the best big brother ever. Sam was speechless.

"Don't blame you for not wanting to have anything to do with me." Dean's eyes were open just enough for Sam to see a slit of hazel, but he knew that Dean was not truly awake. He was reliving at least a part of the false life that the Djinn had thrust him into.

"'M sorry I stole your ATM card and missed your graduation. 'M sorry that I slept with your prom date…especially on prom night. 'M sorry that you don't even want to have a drink with me. 'M sorry that your 'shamed a me. 'M sorry that you don't think we have anything in common, and we only talk on the holidays."

Dean's voice faded to nothing as his eyes slid closed, and Sam was shocked and distressed to see a single tear trail down Dean's face.

_What the hell?_ Sam thought. Dean had said that the Djinn just fed on your thoughts and your fantasy was built from that – it wasn't a perfect fantasy.

But where did this portrait of Dean come from? Who did Dean see in the morning every day when he looked in the mirror. The person that Sam had just heard described bore no resemblance to his brother, nor could it ever – no matter what the circumstances. Sam wasn't about to let this go. He felt a little guilty because he knew that this was information that Dean would never have willingly or consciously shared with him. He knew this because he could hear the shame in his brother's voice, and it made Sam angry. Angry at a world that had conspired to let his brother think so little of himself.

This was also chick-flick hell as far as his brother was concerned. Sam knew that his window of opportunity to at least try to put this right for his brother was going to be a very small window indeed.

So Sam had waited. Waited for the fever to fall enough that his brother was coherent, but still receptive to a discussion that involved the most vile four letter word in his brother's vocabulary: emotions.

Dean was still sweating and shivering while he slept fitfully. He seemed to have stopped dreaming for the moment anyway. It was time. Sam needed to wake Dean up for more meds, and it was the deadest part of night, just before dawn.

"Dean? I need you to wake up and take some more meds," Sam gently shook Dean's shoulder, noting that the area on his neck had already lost much of the red discolouration.

"Five more minutes…" Dean attempted to move away.

"Sorry, Dean. No. Now." Sam did his best John imitation. As Dean surfaced back to the land of the conscious, Sam helped him to sit up a bit and handed him the pills and Gatoraid.

"Dean?"

"Hmm?"

"What kind of brother do you think you are?" Sam said it quietly with no particular emphasis – it was just a question.

"What?" Dean's eyebrows just about shot threw his bangs and off his face. "Random, much?" Suddenly, he had the deer-in-the-headlights-oh-no-Sammy-wants-to-talk expression on his face. He tried to close his eyes and just retreat back into sleep, but Sam was too quick for him.

"Dean, do you think that Mom was a bad mother?"

Dean's eyes shot open at that, and his face clouded in anger.

"WHAT?"

"Do you think that you would have been so very different if Mom had lived?"

"I don't know what you're getting at here Sam, but if you don't stop disrespecting Mom, I'm going to clean your clock." The wounds of losing his mother all over again were just too fresh for Dean.

"That's not what I'm trying to do here Dean. From everything that you've told me, and that's all I've got to go on, remember, she was a wonderful mother."

"So what is your point? Dude, I'm tired. I just want to go back to sleep."

"My point is why do you think that in any universe – Djinn created or otherwise – that you would be the type of brother to steal my ATM card, miss my graduation, or sleep with my prom date?"

Dean just stared at his brother. "How…" The question hung in the air between the two brothers.

"You talk in your sleep, Dude."

"Oh."

"I've heard the stories you know. About how you used to crawl into my crib and sleep with me. And that started _before _Mom died. About how you were better than a baby monitor and always knew when I was fussy. And that was _before _Mom died too. So am I to assume that by not dying, Mom changed the way you viewed our relationship? Or did it change me, so that you wanted nothing to do with me?"

Dean just stared at his brother. He honestly had nothing to say. He looked down at the blankets and twisted them in his fist.

"So explain to me how Mom's living would have changed you so much that you stole my ATM card. When in reality, I know you went without food when we ran short of money, so that I could eat. As I recall, you missed my graduation because you were _in the hospital_ – and they still almost had to sedate you and put you in restraints to keep you from coming."

Dean continued to scrutinize the blankets.

"How would Mom's living have encouraged you to sleep with my prom date? Would having her example around have made you less respectful of women? You were the one that insisted that I ask Rachel to the prom. You gave me the money for the corsage. You drove us and picked us up. Would Mom have raised a son who would have done less?"

Dean looked up at his brother through his eyelashes. The shake of his head was almost imperceptible, but it was there.

"And Dean, we have always had something more important in common than hunting."

Dean's eyebrow rose in question.

"With or without Mom, she and Dad created that link. You will _always_ be my brother, and nothing will ever change that. It's the only thing that we ever need to have between us."

Dean didn't know what to say. He couldn't have spoken at that moment if he'd wanted too. He was still too overwhelmed by what had happened and now what Sam had said. Sam took in the look on his brother's face and realized he was in emotional overload.

"Ok. Chick-flick moment is now officially over. Lie back down and get some sleep."

Dean blinked at his brother and obediently scooted back down into the bed. Dean sighed.

"Thanks, Sammy," he breathed as he slipped quietly back into the folds of sleep.

"That's what little brothers are for, man. To give you an emotional kick in the pants when you screw it all to hell." Sam smiled down at his brother, ghosting a hand across his face. The fever was almost gone.

Sam sank gratefully into his own bed, giving his brother one final look as the light of dawn fell across his brother's sleeping face. The face that Sam always saw even if his brother wouldn't recognize it in the mirror as his own.

* * *

**A/N2:** Dean says in "Dead in the Water" that he tries to be brave every day for his Mom. Just one of the indications of what a presence and influence she had over him even in death. My mother passed away on May 1, so this is my first Mother's Day without her. Just one more thing that I have in common with Dean. I would like to think that she had as profound an affect on me as Mary had on Dean. She was truly an amazing person.


End file.
